


Something in the Water

by DeadSexy



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadSexy/pseuds/DeadSexy
Summary: The lone wanderer is kooky-dooks. Maybe there's something in the water.I removed this fic from FF.net and brought it here. It's unlikely it will get updated, but I might write additional one shots about Silvia and Charon in the future. I am just too tired after six years to fix this fic up right. Beware of massive typos. At least there's smut.There are 4 finished chapters I will upload once I've given them a quick once over.WARNING: I WILL NOT BE FINISHING THIS EVER>





	1. A city of sexy

“Good morning CHIIIIIILDREN! Got some great news out of the town of Megaton. Turns out that live atomic bomb in the town's center has finally been deep-sixed for good. The town's sheriff, one Lucas Simms, commissioned the one, the only Lone Wanderer from Vault 101 to disarm the nasty nuke, and the kid delivered. Hey, nice work, 101. Next time you're in the neighborhood, pop into the studio. Ol' Three Dog's toaster's been on the fritz...”

The radio in the Ninth circle had been chatting up some vaultie for two weeks. Three Dog called her all manner of names, Vault gal, Lone Wanderer, One-O-One. Over and over Three Dog asked her to come by for a visit alluding to her missing father while complaining about his own problems with a broken antenna relay. It wasn’t much, Three Dog’s new found obsession with this teenager trotting about the wastes, but it was _something_ to occupy his time.

Charon watched as another Ghoul walked into the bar, ready to give their hard earned caps to Ahzrukhal. He didn’t know half of their names, the patrons, and he didn’t care. If someone came in sober and clean lacking any kind of willpower, Ahzrukhal would have them binge drinking and huffing jet within a week. In two months, the said ghoul would be unrecognizable and shooting up psycho. Charon wasn’t the type to memorize useless information.

For the past fifty years Charon had been under the employment of that wet-smeared piss-stain known as Ahzrukhal. Twenty years into the contract, after there was no longer any truly _compelling_ evil to unleash on the world, Ahzrukhal settled down to the Ninth circle to quietly tend bar, deal drugs, and sell slaves; the mild evils. Ahzrukhal swore he didn’t believe in slavery, but that was for the benefit for the residents of Underworld, and far from the truth. For thirty years Charon stood in the same corner. He would throw out the occasional dope-head or give a cock of his shotgun to the “merchants” that got too nervous with his employer. The whole place always smelled like a boatfly carcass. Last month, Charon was so bored that he took the initiative to cross his arms. It was extraordinary that a little thing could mean so much.

What once would have been far from his imagination, Charon was thinking. After all, he had been given the last thirty years to do nothing but live inside his own head. His disgusting employer had simply ordered, “Stand in the corner and watch for trouble,” and “send any new customers my way immediately. I wouldn’t want to miss any fresh meat.” That was easy enough. Yet when Charon deliberated on what had _not_ been ordered of him, the order seemed complicated, confused.

When the exact wording of his contract came to mind he thought back on all the years of assuming and providing. That was when he crossed his arms, and Ahzrukhal said nothing. Charon would have smiled if he was the kind of person who would smile.

Being released on an “errand” for Ahzrukhal _barely_ once a year was the single thing Charon had to look forward to. Of course, it was always about some unthinkable deed he was tasked with completing, but it was still an escape. Once a year he was given time to see natural light, breathe air that wasn’t coated in mold, and have the opportunity to kill something. Charon never sought violence. He never shied from it either, and it certainly wasn’t against his moral code to enjoy it. He could enjoy the adrenaline rush as a band of raiders decided, very wrongly, that he was an easy target. Lapping in the sounds his shells made against flesh as it ripped ever so easily away; flesh that seemed to be made of nothing more than sand.

The music on the radio ended and Three Dog started to speak again, “Tensions continue to mount between the courageous forces of the Brotherhood of Steel and their estranged brethren: the Outcasts. Now, normally, family squabbles are none of my business...but when the Outcasts decide to take potshots at my building—which the Brotherhood uses as an outpost—I make an exception. So, Brotherhood Outcasts, knock it off! I prefer not to get murdered in my own backyard. The rest of you Brotherhood cats, can't you extend an olive branch or something? You'd think fighting the Super Mutants would be enough. It’s 6pm out here in the Capitol Wasteland And Three Dog’s got the latest on that enigmatic Vault Renegade, who only recently stepped out of Vault 101 and into our lives…”

Had it been ten hours already? Now a new distraction would help him pass the time. The wave of ghouls that flocked to the Ninth Circle after work. They would rasp away, gossiping and bitching; all of things people say to their friends when they think no one else was listening, yet in the corner stood Charon only a few feet from them. He supposed the ghouls in Undercity were so accustomed to seeing his form; he had become part of the wall. Oh yes, Charon was eavesdropping even if he wished it wasn’t so. Seriously, what else did he have to do? The conversations were much like the stories of 101, just more gossip and rumors to fill the minutes.

“…the AntAgonizer and the Mechanist! Hey, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried…”

 _Bullshit,_ Charon thought. Well, that was the way it sounded. It was though every person across the wastes attributed all the little nuances which made their lives interesting, directly to the vault girl. At least she was famous for somewhat good deeds instead of the usual notorious characters that Three Dog spoke of. The time continued to pass, and he found himself wondering what it was like for her out in the wastes for the first time, being young - _fresh_ as Ahzrukhal would put it.

Now the hour was nearing ten. This was how days passed for Charon. One thought would pass into another with nothing in between, not even time. Then he started thinking about things that were out of the spectrum of orders. He considered why he hadn’t let his mind wander out of the Ninth Circle years ago. It was so enjoyable to contemplate anything and everything _except_ the here and now. So intrigued he was with these new perceptions he nearly missed a new customer. _Nearly_ , but he wasn’t exactly the kind of person who missed anything, ever.

 

* * *

 

The super mutant sprayed a halo of bullets over Silvia’s head where she had been attempting to hide. Luckily they were not very accurate -- or whatever you call a wild monster screaming gosh-knows-what. They barely managed to point and shoot. She figured her lack of dying must have been due to the darkness of night, and the pouring rain.

Why hadn’t the super mutants noticed her earlier in the day? When she was dragging the impossibly clunky dish relay across the mall to the Washington memorial, there was not a sound from any of the freaks. _It was a mystery_. That’s what she would say when asked. Truth be told, she had accidentally turned on her pipboy light.

“FUUck!” Silvia screamed, as she fell into the rubble and broken glass scattered on the pavement. Quickly she shut off the shining beam of ‘ _Here I am!_ ’

Silvia bit her tongue. She barely had time to think in the D.C. ruins, let alone ponder how it had an affect on her vocabulary. This devastated city was so much more hostile than the wastes, so foreign and frightening. To be honest, everything she encountered for the last few weeks were, but lets not go there. Trying to cling to that one thing that made her different from people outside the vault, Silvia struggled not to swear, but failed miserably. Heck, even little kids cussed with abandon. As she looked up at the museum just a few yards from where she cowered, Silvia realized it was all about survival out here, and sometimes there was a tad bit of providence mixed in.

Gripping the treads of her vault boots against the concrete she readied herself. She heard the gunfire stop, and the super mutant scream, “So much crush gone!” Silvia could only assume the big yellow thing needed to reload. Running from something she had no idea where it was or how far away it is, she slammed into a wall.

“Fucks-sake, tourist. Be careful.” A woman said firmly. Silvia barely heard the voice over the thunder, but the lightning offered her a view of where the museum entrance was.

“Super mutants – run!” She shrieked, as she went head first through the door. Once inside her wet-treaded rubber boots acted as an enemy against the slimy marbled floor. Disoriented from her previous slam into a solid object, Silvia landed face first against the ground. Shaking her head as she raised it from the ground, something sticky and foul smelling stretched from her cheek to the cracked marble.

 _Crushed radroach._ Wiping it away with a shudder, Silvia tried to clear her eyes by looking up and was greeted by a giant gaping maw not ten feet away, the monstrous teeth in a giant scowl ready to devour her whole.

“Holy FUCK, shit.shit.shit!” Grabbing at her hunting rifle from her back she hurriedly aimed and fired wildly, all the while awkwardly butt-scooting backward to where she had come in.

“What in the seven terraces has your panties in such a fuck?” The female voice sounded calm and ended her question with a cough.

“What!” came a yelp. It wasn’t a question the vault girl asked but a summation of everything she could think at the moment. The monster wasn’t moving, snarling, or doing anything monsters did, and next to Silvia was a woman as calm as a med-x high. That’s when her vision cleared and it occurred to her it wasn’t a beast at all, but some old skull, at least four feet wide, propped up on a wooden countertop. _Who_ in the world would want to prop that thing there? _Why_ would they want to? Silvia hoped the practical joker was turning in his grave with laughter at this one.

“Calm down, tourist. The super mutants stay away from Underworld, and with their, um, combined logical prowess will assume you’ll do the same,” said the scratched voiced of the woman.

“Underwo…?” Silvia gazed upward. Her clearing eyes opened as wide as they could “Jzeep!” the unknown noise echoed her brain’s ability to understand what she saw. With exposed fleshy sinews inter-winding red and cream like a grass basket, a web works of exposed veins scattering over flesh and rot alike, the woman looked more monster than any other monster Silvia had seen today. _Today_.

“Nice,” the woman said sarcastically at Silvia’s reaction. “Let me guess, you’ve never seen a ghoul before?”

“No, I just…” Silvia’s head started to pound. She didn’t want to offend the woman, but she doubted that could be helped now, and her words were not working right. “I mean yes, but…um, wait do I?” She thought about the question and tried to comprehend how to answer it.

The woman sighed, “Don’t worry about it.” She held out a hand to help Silvia to her feet. “Name’s Willow. If you have caps I’ll escort you to Carol’s Place, she’s got some spare beds. If you don’t got caps, _honestly_ , you should just leave.”

“I have some caps.” Now on her feet, Silvia properly wiped the foul smelling grime from her face. Suddenly, she realized she was being rude. “I mean, my name is Silvia. Nice to meet you. Sorry about the cursing. I didn’t mean to.”

“Uh, huh. Well, lets just get you going where you’re going cause I need a drink.” Willow gave Silvia a judgmental look as she put a cigarette in what was left of her mouth.

As Silvia followed Willow into the Museum of History she came to a giant stone archway topped with a dilapidated skull sculpture. An old pre-war exhibit on Greek mythology, she guessed. It was as good a place as any to start a city these days. Silvia only momentarily mused at how many people even knew what the “underworld” meant anymore, but was soon faced with a more pressing matter. Blushing wildly as every eye that fell on her stayed on her, Silvia realized that every single person in the city was a ghoul.

Ghouls were whispering to other ghouls as they stared. It was worse than when she first walked into megaton completely clean and gunless. People thought she was nuts then, now who knew what was so interesting.

“Don’t feel too bad, we’re a small community and we _maybe_ see a smoothskin once every two years.” Willow practically pulled Silvia up the stairs of the concourse city.

“Oh, well then.” Turing on her heels shouted at the entire pavilion, “Hello everyone! Pleased to meet you!” Her hand raised to begin waving when Willow lowered it.

“Are you on chems, tourist?” Willow rolled her eyes. Silvia wasn’t sure what it meant, faces without skin were so hard to read.

“Sorry, I just…my head hurts. I think I need some rest.”

“That’s a fucking understatement.” Willow opened a door on the second floor of the huge balcony that encircled the city. “Carol? Hey, Carol!” She shouted into the room.

“What? Willow, dear, there is no reason to shout,” said the ghoul in the filthy blue dress as she stood up from behind a small wooden counter.

Willow mumbled in protest something that Silvia could not understand. “Well, this tourist needs a bed…”

“I could also use a drink. _Strong_. I think that would be good,” She added.

Willow laughed. “That’s the first normal thing I’ve heard you say, smoothskin.” She patted Silvia harshly on the back. “Come drink in the Ninth Circle after you get your bed.” The ghoul known as Carol made an unpleasant sound. “Sorry Carol, but his drinks _are_ stronger. You can’t deny it. Besides, you close soon, and I need to get drunk.”

After passing caps into leathery hands to make sure she had a _bed_ for the night instead of some makeshift cardboard, Silvia stepped out into the balcony. The strange and almost awkward kindness of Carol was off-putting to her, and made her yearn for the unfamiliar and grumpy company she was becoming accustomed to. Sure, she was lonely; she was also tired of getting her ear chewed off. Everyone always talked _to_ her. She was respectful, and even compassionate to their plight, but she could only take so much. No one ever _listened_. At least in scummy bars people were too mean or drunk to speak to one another. That way, it was nothing personal.

The people still wandering the great open hall of underworld weren’t staring at her; _as much_. That in itself was a relief. Stretching she felt that pang in her head again, and decided she need to get to this bar with haste. The double doors were so creaky and rotten that Silvia was surprised they were still in tact, but they opened with ease to the Ninth Circle.

The first thing she noticed was the smell. It nearly made her gag. Wondering if ghouls could smell anything, she noticed that not one person seemed interested in her at all. It was calming, and she heard herself let loose a tiny sigh of relief. Finally, a new feeling crept up on Silvia. The last meaningful thing she would notice that night was eyes. She could feel the foggy-blue, irradiated orbs all over her. When she turned to look, Silvia couldn’t help gasping.

 

* * *

 

Charon only had a few seconds to wonder why the smoothskin was staring at him, mouth gaping like she was half-centaur, before she turned and walked to him.

He watched her enter, with a big, stupid grin on her pink, fleshy face. Then she caught the smell, and suddenly the rotting boatfly wiped that smile clean off. She was soaked through from the storm outside, and her platinum hair clung every-which-way across her head and neck. The impractical mechanic’s blue jumpsuit was ripped all the way up her arm, her backpack looked loaded with a pile of junk, and her rifle was held together with tape. Even for a smoothskin, she was a sad excuse for a wastelander.

“You have to be…” She stammered as she spoke to him. Her eyes flickered with wonder through the mismatch of dilation, and deep-red soaking within the whites. Burning hot purple skin bulged around her left eye and cheek. Charon knew from experience, within the hour that eye would be blinded by inflammation or nerve damage. “…No, you _are_ the biggest person I have ever seen!”

The young girl toothily smiled as she examined him further. What was left of her vision glanced from shoulder to shoulder and back to his face.

“Talk to Ahzrukhal.” Charon’s voice was low, calm, and unusually flat against the dampening walls of Underworld. Unsure of how many month it had been since he spoke last, Charon listened to his own voice. It was different from before, wasn’t it? The girl must have laughed, and his attention diverted only momentarily, Charon frowned to see her still in front of him.

“Ok, sure I will, but before that…I mean _really_ you are! What are you? 6’9”? A perfect specimen of muscle mass, ghoulification, and size!” She gaped in awe.

 _Specimen?_ He could feel his dislike for the smoothskin make his trigger finger itch, when her dilated eye did not look at him but just past him to the wall. Charon relaxed a bit finally understanding what the hell was going on; she was concussed.

The girl was still going on about his height when he leaned close and snapped his deteriorated fingers in her face. Shifting his weight and unfolding his arms, Charon pointed at the bar. “Talk. To. Ahzrukhal.”

The dim switch in her head finally turned on as she looked at the bar. She thanked him by trying to wink her eye (to which she failed) and smiled a big plump smile. A soft twinge of guilt suddenly built up in his grinding teeth from sending her to see Ahzrukhal. Not a single person, ghoul or human had smiled at Charon since becoming employed under Ahzrukhal.

With her blue bruises and jumpsuit, the girl strode up to the bar, brazen as fire ants but still acted, and comically looked, sweet as a pre-war blueberry. Eventually all the blueberries had mutated into the mutfruit plant, and Charon knew she was no different. Acting so innocent, if she was looking for trouble; she was asking for it. At last, something that was relevant to his interests.

After buying her first drink, blueberry stood at the bar talking to Ahzrukhal for a very long time. Charon only guessed the kind of lies that rat was feeding her. Every now and again she would turn and look at Charon, but Ahzrukhal practically ate her ear as he leaned into her face. Maybe the lump-spined festering fuck was thinking of selling Blue as new merchandise.

 _Strange._ Was he really going to keep thinking of her so absurdly? Calling her ‘Blue’? _Why not_ , He considered, didn’t she look like something that had just fallen off the tree, _and hit every branch on the way down?_

Soon, the girl had a bottle of booze under her arm, and ungracefully walked back to the table next to Charon’s corner. Why she wanted to sit near him he didn’t know, nor did he care. Throwing her pack to the floor she pulled out a stimpack. Two shots of vodka within thirty seconds later, Blue held the pointed end of the stimpack up to her eye. She looked up at Charon. Thinking that she looked like a lost brahmin, he watched her body tense up and become more resolute, right before she shoved the needle into her tear duct. She screamed, but only for a second.

A howl of laughter erupted from Willow and her pack at the bar. “That was fuckin’ sick, tourist.”

“I guess,” the girl whispered to herself. “but what isn’t?”

 

* * *

 

Hours later, everyone left the bar. Ahzrukhal was done counting his caps as he locked up his precious safe. Then he strolled over to lock the doors.

“Charon,” He barely managed between huge gaping breathes, “I’m heading to the back for the night. If our _hero_ here…” Ahzrukhal motioned at the smoothskin girl who was halfway through her first bottle of vodka. Her head lulled back and forth. “…decides to move, make sure it’s out the door. Until then, the more she drinks; the more caps I get.” Then he shuffled away to his back room.

Since it was now deemed “night” by Ahzrukhal, Charon was allowed to do things like, sit, sleep, eat, and take care of basic bodily functions. Instead, he sat at the little table next to him and put his eyes back on Blue, who was at the same table. Suddenly she took another shot.

“Thank you.” She spoke softly, more relaxed then before, but clearly not drunk. “for not laughing at me earlier, I mean.”

He didn’t know why he would have laughed at something that needed to be done. She would have lost all sight in that eye had she not inserted the stimpack.

“Drink?” Having poured another shot, she pushed the glass to him. He glowered at it. Having no desire to fill his body with the poison, but being equally surprised at the gesture, he said nothing.

“Are you allowed to talk?” She asked, looking him in the eyes like no one else in Underworld would dare.

Thinking about her question, Charon wasn’t sure. There was no order _against_ it, and it did not betray Ahzrukhal in any way, but he had never spoken out of turn. “Yes.” he said curtly.

“It’s alright, I’m not offended if you don’t care to speak to me.” The girl took the shot back and downed it herself. “I’m sort of relieved not to hear another life story.” She suddenly looked worried and flushed. “not that I wouldn’t be interested!”

Only assuming Blue was embarrassed about something, he nodded at her.

“It’s just nice to sit like this, you know?” Her eyes started to drift up and away. “So many things that need doing, and no one else seems to want to do it themselves. I’m just like everyone else…have problems…”

She started to shake her head and reached for her pack. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your way so you can sleep…”

“No need.” He replied, not trying to be nice or anything. It was just true. Ghoul metabolism was slow, and made the need for food and sleep much less than that of a human.

There it was again, that fleshy smile of hers radiating across only a few small feet. He started to wonder how little this kid had to look forward to if she thought he was so damn pleasant.

“You have _no idea_ how much that means to me,” She said.

He did not respond. For the next several minutes she sat in silence, eyes half open, face content. Her breathing was even and slow. She was living - reveling - in the silence, the kind of silence only company can bring. When she finally opened her lips to speak it nearly felt unwelcome.

“This is nice,” Her words slipped out with heated vodka air. “It’s times like this...”

Charon wasn’t sure what she was talking about so said nothing, but in his own way, agreed.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, after a surprisingly sound sleep, Charon was standing in his corner again. As soon as the bar opened, Blue walked in. She was all cleaned up and rested up, and looked a shining example of how he remembered people, years ago when they still cared.

“What?! No, I will _not!_ ” This morning she was haggling with Ahzrukhal over something. Looking more and more frustrated, the girl threw her hands in the air and shouted.

“OK fine! You win! I’ll get it for you, I don’t know how, but _I’ll get it!_ ” Blue never seemed dumb, and only appeared dim because of her concussion, but one needed to be Silver-tongued to last that long in an argument with Ahzrukhal. Even though she had lost, Blue looked cheerful, and stuffed a packet of _Blamco Mac & Cheese_ down her throat.

“It’s morning in the capitol Wasteland again, and Three Dog is here sayin’ Helooo CHIIIIIILDREN!” Suddenly the kid stopped everything and listened. “People of the Capital Wasteland, you can HEAR MEEEE!!!! Yeeeaa haaaa!!! You can't stop the signal, baby! That's right, from Megaton to Girdershade, Paradise Falls to the Republic of Dave, we are coming to you loud and proud, in a special live report! But Three Dog! You're in that cool radio studio in D.C. How do YOU know I can hear you, all the way out here in the ass end of nowhere? Because of the kid from Vault 101, that's how! That gal actually managed to repair our antenna relay. How's that for ingenuity, folks? From here on in, it's bye-bye stupid static, hello magnificent music. So sit back, relax, and absorb these classic tunes. Kid, you get your ass back to GNR, you hear me? We've got some stuff to talk about!”

Blue jumped off her stool suddenly and was absolutely beaming. To Charon everything in the entire shit filled world was fine, because she thought it was. Her optimism was so obnoxious, it was downright fucking inspiring.

“Well, I’m being summoned!”

 _What?_ There was no way this was Three Dog’s ‘Lone Wanderer’, was there?

Sauntering to the doors, Blue looked at him. “See you,” she said with a wave.

While logic would dictate otherwise, he found himself believing her. Sure, she would most likely take two steps out of the museum and instantly be torn to shreds by a mini-gun, but still, he believed her. Unlike everyone else, Blue acted more real, more alive. He could neither deny the faith she evoked or his desire to see her again, as ridiculous as both things were.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Choppin that meat

“Looks like our friend from Vault 101 has turned amateur abolitionist, lending a hand to the folks at the Temple of the Union. Is the tide finally turning for those scumbag Slavers? Lordy knows it's been open season on defenseless settlers long enough. So if you're a slave on the run, the time for lying low is long gone. Head to the Temple of the Union and keep your head held high. Slavers of the Capital Wasteland, consider this the big fuck you you've had coming since starting this scurrilous skin trade. And special thanks to 101, for kicking the bad guys where it counts: their wallets. If you happen to make it down to the Mall, you just may notice that a previously decapitated statue has had an unexpected reunion... with it's head. Thanks to the kid from Vault 101, for assisting with this little bit of civic restoration. Now if she could just remove all those ugly pipes from the Jefferson Memorial.”

“What?! FUCK NO! What am I going to do now? I am so. fucking. Tired. of that bitch.” Ahzrukhal turned the radio off for the first time since Galaxy New Radio first aired. Then when the silence wasn’t enough he slapped the radio across the room. “I would have sold off or killed her if she hadn’t already been so damn famous! Damn, she would have got a good price too. Not just fresh. _Legendarily_ fucking fresh.”

Although it was just the two of them in the bar, Charon knew that Ahzrukhal was talking to himself. Venting as he did about certain things. Charon was just forced to listen.

“Coming in here acting all sweet and innocent. _Hi, name’s two faced bitch Silvia. pleased to meet you, sir!’_ Right. Just forgot to mention how fucking deadly and bad for business she is.”

Aside from the happiness in knowing how angry Blue had made Ahzrukhal, Charon also felt satisfaction in finally knowing her real name.

_Silvia,_ he thought, _Blue suits her better_.

“She tried to _buy_ you, Charon,” Ahzrukhal said as his manipulative ways turned on the only thing in the room. “You know that? How hypocritical is that smoothskin bitch? But miss goody-good will never be able to pay the price I set.”

Charon had to admit his own disappointment, but expressed nothing.

“I bet you would like that, too.” Ahzrukhal laughed. “Well shit, who wouldn’t like to be able to watch that ass walk around the wastes?”

There were many aspects Charon could recall with vivid memory about Blue when she visited the Ninth Circle two months ago, but none of them included her ass. It was her glow that he would always remember, like nothing this radiation infested world knew. The kind of glow that made hope kindle. It was evoked in people who for generation had done nothing because that was the way of things. Yet now, because of her, they moved. People moved to make things better; cared to give a shit about something. It was infectious.

“Forget it. We can only hope some raider kills her and skull-fucks her corpse for good measure.”

Charon wondered what Ahzrukhal’s customers and fellow residents would think of the way he spoke behind closed doors.

“Charon!” Ahzrukhal barked, “I need you to run a delivery for me, since my regular pick-up is _fucking dead_. Come to the back.”

Faithfully, Charon followed down the dark hall and was met with the big, black, hollow eyes of a boy, probably eight years of age, the slave collar tightly making red rings around his small neck. It was like looking into a mirror of Charon’s past.

“Take this smoothskin brat to Paradise Falls, and don’t let them give you less than 1,000 caps for him.” Ahzrukhal slapped the proximity detonator, and chains into Charon’s hands. “take him out the back of the museum to be sure no one sees you.”

_For good or ill._ Charon mused, wishing he could do something about all that inspiration Blue had unknowingly planted; inspiration that was going to waste on him.

 

* * *

 

Well, sugar, let me say I’d never seen a piece of work like that before.

Not ever.

Fucking and stabbing was my thing, but _oh shit_ I’d hit that little saintly shit anyday.

She was all, ‘too good for our stink hole’, but her tits were as hard as my knife as I brushed up against her. Shoulder armor and ammo belts over a blood stained white tanktop don’t make you look any more butch, baby. I just wanted to untie that blue jumpsuit she had wrapped around her waist and give Eulogy a little sugar, but she slapped my hand away. _That_ was fuckin’ hotter than her tits.

I never did catch what in cocksuck she wanted. Didn’t care. Her and Eulogy just had it out for a bit, and I was catching a laugh from my big daddy by fuckin’ with her. Maybe she was tryin’ to buy me. _Oh,_ that’d be a treat for sure. I haven’t been able to work a pussy in a while. That dumbshit Crimson ain’t having it, and I’d stab her ass if given one fuckin’ chance.

I just wanted to party, with the partying vault girl everyone’s been talking about. So-the-fuck-what if I stabbed her with a little psycho? She staggered around a bit, and how was I supposed to know she’d get all pissie?

She tossed a shitload of caps right in Eulogy’s face and he laughed. _Fucking laughed!_ Normally he just shot any bitch that acted like a dumb slit. He must have been just as much prick-ready for her as I was.

Eulogy then turned and informed me and stupid–junky-trick-crimson; we now belonged to ‘vaultie sugar tits’. I nearly creamed, but that was not the best of it. Oh fuck no! That was just jet on a plate of buffout laced meat.

I watched my girl, my new hot plate of weapons, caps, and sex as the psycho really kicked in. I wanted to stick four fingers right up my folds, watching the trip-out on her face. Her arms tightened in sequence with her eyes bulging, and muscles I ain’t never seen on a woman before ripped forward.

Eulogy said somethin’, but I could give two shits less anymore and didn’t listen to him. My Vaultie musta heard him though cause she was all screaming and acting the hot mess she really was, you know, deep down inside. The places only a nice hit of drugs can reach.

You got all kinds, but there ain’t no kind like the “good ones.” Pent up from not doing what the rest of us are doing every god damn day, and when they let loose, it’s like a nuke.

“ _Clover, Crimson_!” Vaultie screamed at us and I moaned at how full of fuckability she sounded. “Get the fuck down, _NOW_!”

That skank crimson was belly-to-the floor and face-to-the-piss, but I crouched. I wasn’t gonna miss this trip.

And God Damn, let me say my vaultie was fuckin’ mean. I guess she’d never done drugs before, but I bet she’d do ‘em after this shitstorm. Grabbin at her knife she lunged for Eulogy, outta fuckin’ no where!

Don’t get me wrong, Eulogy was hotshot on a cold night with his gun, both of them, but who can get to a gun when my chemed out Vaultie is jumping your loins faster than a deathclaw? Straddling his chest, _my girl_ fucked his face wide open with her knife.

“SUCK. ON. THIS. SHIT. YOU. FOUL. MOTHER. FUCKING. SLAVER. GARBAGE!!!” Every word she spat was another knife fuck, and lemme tell ya, she was a regular chatterbox that day.

I crawled up next to her as Eulogy’s brains continued to go flying all over my face in once glorious moneyshot. Licking my lips, I knew I was _in fuckin’ love_.

 

* * *

 

When the guard who normally stood post at the entrance to paradise falls was missing, Charon knew something was wrong. The hushed air and lack of violent cursing in the slaver complex was downright creepy. Approaching the makeshift city he looked down at his small and expensive package. If there was trouble the child could get hurt, he could be killed, he could be spared a life of fucking slavery. Charon decided to take the child into the compound after all.

The gun cocked not but two inched from Charon’s rotted face. “Who the fuck sent ya?” The voice whispered.

_Whisper? In Paradise Falls? What in the hells is going on here?_

“Ahzrukhal has some merchandise…”

“Shit! Now?!” The raider whispered more harshly. (Lol, really brain?) “We can’t deal right now.”

Finally the question nagged at Charon like gnats on a brahmin. “What is going on here?”

“Fuck, man,” the slaver said wild eyed, “We don’t even fuckin’ know. See that building at the end of the complex? It went dark over there like fifteen minutes ago, we been sending our guns over to check it out, and, motherfuck…”

“They are not coming out?”

“No, you fuckin’ zombie! They _are_ coming out, just not in once piece. Someone’s been tossing their goddamn heads out of the window up there! We don’t don’t hear one single fuckin sound either. We have no idea what the fuck, like it might even be Eulogy off his nut…”

“Shut up, Ice,” called another slaver a few feet over.

“Whatur we gunna do now?” quietly said another.

Then one of them finally got half an idea. “Send the goddamn zombie in, Ice.”

“Hey, fuck yeah, you could distract them while we come around the back. You head up there and once we know you are inside we will start heading round.” Suddenly all the slavers turned to face Charon.

“Not happening.” Charon said evenly.

“Oh? Your Ahzrukhal’s pet ain’t ya? I’ve heard all about you.” The slaver smiled disturbingly, “Listen up you brainwashed shitsorm, You’re going in there or the six of us are gonna open fire on you and your boss’s merchandise.” Seeing Charon’s snarl the slaver smiled wildly. “hey man, we hear you are some tough-balls for a shuffler but don’t bother. We got six guns on you right here, at least up there you’ll stand a chance.”

Unfortunately, Charon was forced to agree. Releasing the chains of the child at his side, he unsheathed his shotgun and began to sneak over to the building. Crouching near the open door he realized that the slavers were wrong. As he slowly ascended the stair to the second floor he could hear plenty of sound. There was muffled laughing, there was distinct female whimpering, and thirdly there was tapping. Realizing none of it was near the door he was about to enter, slowly he crept inside.

It was darker in the side of the room he had entered and he would need to rely on his ears, or what was left of them, to stay aware. The light from the day poured through the windows not far from where he stood, but he was still in cover of shadow. On the other side of the room he could see a small black woman hunched over her knees crying. She was repeating something about ‘we’re gonna die, we’re all gonna die,’ but still Charon did not see what had killed 5 slavers, silently, already.

“Slaver-fuck…” The female voice quivered and was already on top of him when he heard it. He spun to face it, slapping a knife away accidentally with his shotgun, but before he had time to fire, two small hands were viciously wrapped around his throat. She had jumped up, straddling him and trapping the shotgun between their bodies. He was knocked back by the force of her body slamming into him, but only momentarily. Charon regained his footing as he gasped for air. The little hands were much stronger than the woman’s stature would predict. He needed to release himself but couldn’t see anything. Charon ran straight towards the wall on the lit side of room to free himself of the woman who clutching his throat with her hands and his waist with her legs. The impact of his full weight combined with the speed he was running was bound to stun her, _fuck,_ anyone really. It was only when there was no going back that he regretted his decision, but only mildly.

Slamming her against the wall Charon could feel the full contents of Blue’s lungs spill out onto his face. It was surprisingly cool in the heat of the day, and there seemed to be a glint of recognition in her eyes before they started rolling back in her head. She looked entirely peaceful as her head lulled slowly into his shoulder and neck.

“What?” Unable to verbally express his confusion, he breathed into the side of her face. Charon felt her legs release, but he held her body secure so the shotgun would not go flying to the ground.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off _my girl,_ you freak!” Some slave girl in a pink dress flew laterally at his head, dagger in hand. He let Blue fall on her ass as he held his shotgun up. Charon fired, but must have missed because the crazy bitch was on him screaming like madness. “I’ll eat your maggot covered ass!” The slave scratched and swiped like a deathclaw, and Charon was busy trying to get a good aim on her when Blue must have snapped out of her stun.

“Clover, stop! Leave him alone!” She said with as much breath her devastated lungs could muster, and instantly the slave girl calmed down, smiled, and starting giggling.

Charon kneeled next to her, but kept an eye on the crazed slave-girl. “I may have broken some of your ribs.” She was ten times more cut-up, beat-up and fucked-up than the last time he saw her. It was painful to see her so childlike so late in life, learning from the wastes in the hardest of ways.

“Charon? Crimany,” She said coughing and gagging. She reached out for him; her hand gripping his forearm like it was the only thing that would make her feel better. His throat burned, and when she did not recoil from his dead skin the pain began to spread to his chest. “It’s so incredibly good to see you, you can’t even imagine!”

Indeed, he could not. They had barely shared three sentences before now. Yet, it was a curiosity since no one had ever said that to him before. Normal people just weren’t happy to see a ghoul or a mercenary. He embodied both.

“I don’t know what is happening, it’s like I’ve been in this horrible nightmare…”

“A fucking hot ass trip, baby,” Clover mused.

“Oh.my.god,” She gasped horrified as she looked at her hand on his arm. As she pulled back her eyes stayed on her hand, then the ran up her arms and then down her chest. “Am I… _covered_ in cerebra -- fucking _brains_?!?”

 

 

It was the first time I realized how sideways she was. She had recently brutally murdered more then five men, had almost gotten the jump on me, and now she was upset about brains covering her skin. Imagine that, if you can, because it put me in awe.

“Shit, I got blood all over you!” She moved towards me again. When she tried to wipe the blood from my calloused flesh with her smooth soft hands; I pulled away, and she looked despairingly from it. What was she thinking? Why was she suddenly so upset? “I’m sorry!” She peeped. Yeah, it sounded like a peep, so what?

I had nearly forgotten the slavers who had planned to set a trap by coming up the back stairs, but when we heard the shuffling of their failed stealth, Blue jumped and her eyes started to bulge.

I watched the adrenaline pump in her veins, and the chemical reaction set off whatever drug she had coursing through her small body. I _wanted_ to help her. I don’t know why but I did. I wanted to drag her away from this hole, but I couldn’t. _Could Not._ I had my orders and they had not been completed, and now the slavers would most likely finish the job I had started on this hapless kid.

There was one thing I could do, however…

“The slavers are coming up the back. You need to run out the front, and head east. There are caves along the hills you can hide in.”

Her giant glassy eyes suddenly shot up at me. Her breathing was deep, uneven, and she looked livid. “I’m done hiding. This…” She stood up and spread her arms out for me to see all of her, and wasn’t she just a gorgeous sight in all of her blood drenched glory. “…is who I am.”

“Psycho back on, momma?” The disgusting slave girl handed Blue a gun and knife she had gotten from who knows where. The kid ran straight towards the window, but stopped like she forgot something. Turning she looked right at me, and gave me that little smile. Not _again_. That damn smile. The one that made me want to follow her into Hades and bring back three dog heads just for fun. I’d never be able to act on that smile, and it burned me up.

“Thanks.” She waved as she plunged herself out of the window, straight away followed by the crazy slave bitch.

That was the second time she thanked me in as many times I saw her, and I still don’t know what it was about, but it strangely made me feel better. Like something I did made her life somehow easier, better, and it was a good feeling. A nice change.

“Fuck.” I watched as Blue and her slave counterpart charged headlong into a group of slavers. Brave as nukes, high as them too. I clutched the windowsill as I watched her fighting, ever so closely dancing next to death; with extreme interest.

“Just don’t let them take you alive.” I muttered thinking of my own offended, miserable life.

 

 

I watched as she sat in silence next me. Our backs propped up against the wall of the building the massacre had started in. She was staring into the fire she had created in the middle of the compound to ‘celebrate.’ It was littered with everything slaver related.

I was still fucking amazed that she was even alive. Maybe that was why I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She was a piece of mystery to me that was for sure. In less than an hour all the slavers of Paradise Falls were dead. All of them. The entire capitol wasteland was slaver free suddenly. The closest known slavers were in Baltimore, northeast of here, a nineteen hour straight walk.

She was impossibly lucky, and it must have been contagious. Here I was, away from that stinking boatfly the Ninth Circle, in the open air sitting peacefully with good old Blue for the second time.

Blue and Clover had made short work of the slavers, one by one, until Paradise Falls was a giant stinking pile of corpses. Her own wounds were minimal, and she easily patched them up with stimpacks, threads, needles, and vodka. She ordered Clover to feed the bodies to the starving dogs the slavers had been keeping, and Crimson freed all of the slaves that were in the pens. She had also freed Clover and Crimson, but the news was not mutually acceptable.

“You don’t get it, momma. You own me, you bought me, you’re stuck with me. I ain’t leaving such a fine sweet thing, till, you know, you sell me.” Clover was walking around the complex

“Clover I’m not gonna sell you! I’ve freed you!”

“Ain’t no such thing as free, Momma. What you want from me?”

“I don’t care! Sing a fucking song or something!”

“YoOOouuuuu waaaannaAAa fuUUUuuck?” Clover sang her question.

Blue moaned angrily and looked up at me just as she had done in the bar before sticking herself with a stimpack. I started to wonder if the startling reality covering the faces of ghouls helped her brave the world she had to deal with.

“Clover!” Her voice resounded with authority. “Go to sleep, already.”

“Yes, momma.” Clover obediently went inside and then was not heard from again.

As the evening crept from dusk to a cloud filled night, Blue started glancing, more and more, over at the child I still had chained near me.

“What are you going to do with him?” She asked me directly, her eyes looked completely black in the night.

“I will take him back to Ahzrukhal.”

“But…” Her face contorted into anger, confusion, fear, despair, and back to anger. “Why? There aren’t any slavers anymore!”

“He has ordered me to take care of his property until compensated. Either he will send me north to sell the child, or he will find a private buyer.” Watching her broken expression as I spoke, I wanted to tell her I was sorry, even though I wasn’t.

“Well, can I compensate him? He’d never know the difference. Caps are caps right?” She looked so hopeful, and I nodded at her. For a second I was sure she was going to lunge at me, arms open all _hugs and love_ , but she must have thought better of it. She looked away and dug into her backpack. I was relieved.

 

 

_He must really think I’m a dingbot, and I don’t blame him. You don’t just go around trying to hug people in the wastes, idiot_. It was no wonder he glared at me in a way that was even worse than the way he normally blankly stared.

I didn’t know anything except the basics about Charon. Ahzrukhal told me about his ‘contract’, but when I talked he barely replied, if at all. I didn’t even know if I liked him as a person, and here I was trying to hug him. He was blatant, and harsh, and _honest_ , and that was the closest thing to a friend I had yet to find out here. I missed Amata, wanted to run down the halls with the Tunnel Snakes, and wanted to hug Dad one of those angry hugs while cursing him for leaving me behind.

_Sweet Onions of Mercy_ , _I am so lonely_. Tears ran down my face, but I wasn’t crying. I was coming down off the unwanted high of psycho. That’s what I told him anyhow. Maybe I did like Charon after all, his silence made me feel better. Like he carefully considered me, like he cared even if he didn’t. In his stillness he agreed with me, where as others would have already pointed out that I was full of shit. That I was a fraud, and my actions were not my intentions at all. Doing good, fighting the good fight, was some sort of compulsion. The vault had done me in, that was for sure. I had escaped the vault, but only physically.

Finally I reached where I had my caps stored for a special purchase. 1,056 caps; halfway to buying Charon’s contract. I wanted so badly to free him from that sleaze-ball, but to be honest I wanted company even more. Even though I knew I could never bring myself to _keep him_ , it was a nice fantasy. In the perfect world there was Charon: someone who would never leave you, and who would always be loyal because he had to be. Even Amata and Dad had failed on those counts, but I guess that was the difference between freewill and slavery. _Freewill often disappoints_.

Charon stared at me with a fire I had not noticed before. _Oh shit_ , had I been talking out loud? What had I said, and why were these drugs still affecting my brain so much? I didn’t try to cover it up but I did try to get past it in a hurry.

“How much does Mr. A. expect for the boy?”

 

 

Christ, why was she crying? Here she was capable of killing slavers with an efficiency that I rarely saw anymore, and the next minute she breaks into muffled tears? She certainly didn’t need pity, but then she started mumbling. I couldn’t stop myself from hearing her, all the suffering and solitude. I doubt she knew that I could heed those inner most thoughts, all the while practically telling me her life story. I felt wrong listening to it, but I would have felt worse not doing so. And then my name came up and I wouldn’t have been able to stop listening if the world itself ended.

Blue liked me, (to this I surprised to say the least) but she thought of me as all stares and silence. She wanted to believe my demeanor was because I cared, and because she was so damn alone. She was saving caps for my contract because she wanted my company. Really. Good company I was not. Then she said quite clearly, “ _Freewill often disappoints_.” My head pounded for her as I frowned. The hope she was freely giving out to the unworthy wasteland was being sucked out of her.

“How much does Mr. A. expect for the boy?” Blue’s expression perked up unnaturally.

“One thousand caps.” The words no sooner left my mouth when she looked worse off than before.

“So expensive…”

“Human life normally is.” I caught myself saying. What had brought my outburst on, I didn’t know. My opinions were normally internal only.

She bagged up a pile of caps and looked at the sleeping boy and then back to me. She did this quite a few times, and I knew what was happening. She was deciding which of us she would spare their inevitable future. Contract or slave. As she seemed to always do, Blue made the _right_ decision. She passed the caps to me and I took them, but she did not let go. Firmly squeezing tighter, her hand held mine in place separated by only a small sack of caps. As if she was embarrassed, Blue looked at the ground instead of me, but she wouldn’t let go of my hand.

She needed me.

Even if it was just to hold her hand, it was a feeling altogether new. It was at that moment I realized why I would spend hours thinking about her while in the Ninth Circle. Because of her, I surprised myself, and I did so again when my other hand reached over hers. She didn’t shudder, or pull away, or even blink she just sat there with her hand in mine. Time passed for us in silence, and I barely noticed when it started to rain. She let the rain fall on her and did nothing.

“It’s raining, Blue.” I said before thinking.

“Who the fuck is Blue?”

 


	3. This asshole here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sad poorly done smut ensues.

“There is no way she is still alive.” Jericho held his hands to his hips as he watched the little vault kid, Silvia Morgan, walk back into Megaton. She’d been gone for three months, and while Three Dog kept swearing she was alive and fighting the ‘good fight,’ Jericho just knew the newbie had gotten her brains blown out or face eaten off long ago. His eyes widened as she passed, and he tried to keep his cool, but there was no stopping the gawking he was about to lay down. Three months in the wastes could change anyone, and boy was she changed.

What was left of her blue vault suit was held up with tape and ropes. She had odds and ends of clothing pieced together, and looked like someone who had rummaged a lot of bodies. Small scars ran up and down her arms and face, and she had a mild limp. She looked a lot more ‘woman’, and a lot less ‘fucking-sucker.’ Her appearance was different, sure, but it was her attitude that surprised him. Here she was strutting like she owned the entire damn place, _as was her right_ since she had saved it. She shooed off Lucas Sims and any other tail-grabber as they approached. All tough-as-nails she sauntered through the streets ready to bite off any head that tried to hinder her approach to, what must have been, a needed bath. It was kind of hot.

Then from the front doors ran a dream come true of tits and ass, scars and swords, and Jericho watched the beauty in the pink dress catch up to Silvia. She had a salve collar wrapped around that sexy little neck of hers. Vaultie yelled at her for dragging behind and pink dress replied with a, “Sorry, Momma.” Jericho decided that was going in the spank-bank for later.

It was all utterly ridiculous and seemed impossible. Vaultie had a slave? She was so holier-than-thou last time he’d spoken to her. _Dammit._ She had asked him to join her, and Jericho had turned her down saying, “ _There's not a lot of cash in being good, you know._ ” Well Silvia didn’t look like she was rolling in the cash, even if she did have her own slave. But that wasn’t the thing that _really_ got under his skin about the whole thing. She was so fucking famous. The entire capitol Wasteland knew who she was and what she was doing. The drones tuned in, every morning and evening, for the latest news of their _hero_ , and it nearly made Jericho sick. Three Dog said she had taken out Paradise Falls. The sheep cheered, but Jericho knew that killing was killing. But also, glory was glory, and while she went about it in a different way than he would have, Silvia was getting all the killing and glory she wanted.

 _Who gets a slave and then kills all the slavers?_ Jericho didn’t know, but he did know that he wanted a piece of that glory Silvia had all to herself. Cash wasn’t _everything,_ but glory…well glory paved the way to caps and ass. Jericho decided to head to Moriarty’s Saloon, as he often did. Hopefully Silvia would turn up, and he would be given a chance to fix his earlier mistake of underestimating the vault girl.

 

* * *

 

Sneaking into Moriarty’s Saloon Silvia leaned over the counter and whispered to the ghoul doing the dishes. “Remember me?”

“Sil!” Gob ran up to the bar and exchanged over-the-counter shoulder pats with Silvia. “I knew you weren’t dead!” He smiled at her, and she remembered why she wanted to come here to begin with. Gob was, next to Charon, the only person who listened to her. “Moriarty's been especially nasty lately. Thank god for your friendly face, but enough about me what can I do for you? How have you been? Are all the stories true?”

“I’m not a fucking post office.” Moriarty approached her, interrupting Gob, and shoved some letters into her hands. “Next time you’ll be compensating me, one way or another.”

“Oh, ok?” Silvia looked down at the papers confused while Moriarty stormed away. She opened the first letter and began to feel a bit ill. Right away she shoved the papers into her pockets, embarrassed that she had ever flirted with that scumbag Burke. Yeah, it was to get him out of Megaton, but still…

“Everything alright? You look like someone walked over your grave.” Gob said snapping her out of the trance she was in.

She smiled up at him. “Well, we could use some food, and after that I’ll sit here and talk to you all night if you want.”

“We?” Gob looked at her and she motioned at the blond girl standing behind her.

“Silvia, is that a fucking slave collar? Is she your slave?” Gob looked angry and Silvia couldn’t blame him.

“Kind of, but listen before you get all mad…I _tried_ to free her. It’s like she doesn’t hear me unless I’m mean to her. I can’t even get her to take off the damn slave collar, but at least she let me disarm it.” She sighed as gob continued to look upset. “Clover why don’t you sit down next to me?”

“I never sit where Mistress sits.” Clover replied.

“Damnit Clover, sit down!” Silvia yelled and Clover immediately obeyed.

“It takes all kinds.” The man who approached the bar said. Silvia looked up and saw Jericho standing over her.

“It sure does,” Gob said eyeing Jericho.

“Hello, _Jericho_.” Silvia could not hide it, she was still bitter at the man. Three months ago Jericho had spent half the night chatting her up, and she imagined he really was interested in her plight. Turns out all he wanted was a little ‘in-and-out’ and back then she would have done almost anything to get someone to come with her, to help her. Luckily, Gob gave Jericho’s game away before she had gone upstairs with him. When asked straight if he wanted to go with her, he said ‘there is not enough money in being good’.

Laughing at the ghoul tending bar, Jericho kept on talking to Silvia. “Don’t feel bad, girlie. Sometimes when training a slave they kind of…break.”

“First hand experience?” Gob asked under his breath.

“Actually, yes.” Jericho replied unashamed, and Silvia gagged at the idea. “I’ve done stuff I’m not proud of, but I don’t have any regrets. You do what you gotta to survive out there.”

Silvia nodded because she agreed, and couldn’t believe it. She ordered food for herself and Clover and to her surprise Jericho paid.

“I’m not going to bed you, if that’s what you’re after.” She was blunt, she needed to be. Silvia had made a deal with herself to be a little more like Charon. Just thinking about how messed up his life was and he didn’t go crying to strangers at night. It made her more resolute and sure of herself.

“Want me to fuck him, Momma?” Clover laughed, and Jericho laughed as well.

“Clover, _fu-_ no, I do not. You are not my slave anyway! You are free!”

“Yes, Momma.” Clover acted as though she did not hear Silvia.

“Look, no offence, girl, but you aren’t exactly the finest ass around. It’s just that I like to be first at the buffet, ya know?” Jericho decided to order some whiskey and poured Silvia a shot as well. She took it warily.

Silvia wondered momentarily if she was becoming addicted to alcohol. She always wanted it, always craved it, and always found room in her packs for it. Now she was carrying around drugs because she had to admit, to her dismay, that they were such a huge help in that particular situation. Who knows, she could find herself against hopeless odds again and in need of a little chemical bravery. Just about everything those videos in the vault had told her were “not suitable for young ladies” were turning out to be just fine for her. Silvia supposed she was turning out to be the vulgar little fiend the overseer always said she was, you know, before she stabbed the back of his head for killing Jonas.

“Well, what do you want, exactly?” She looked up at Jericho and he rubbed his beard.

“I’ve just been thinking about your previous offer. To come with you.”

Silvia fumed. Before, when she actually needed him he refused and now, suddenly, when she didn’t need a damn thing but her sniper rifle, knife, and a 10mm SMG… “Look, I’ve got all the mouths I can feed for right now…”

“Well I’m not looking for a handout,” Jericho interrupted her. “We can do twice the looting, twice the super-mutant killing, twice the glory. Think of it..”

“I don’t…”

“We can find you father twice as fast.”

Silvia couldn’t think of anything to say. That’s all she wanted, to find her dad, to end this nightmare and settle down somewhere. Wasn’t it? _Shit_. She realized it wasn’t, not anymore. The more she traveled, the more she wanted to travel. The more she killed the scum bags that infested the planet, the more she had a taste for it. It was starting to feel fun, and she almost feared finding her father and what he would think of her actions.

“Well, girl, just think on it. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

* * *

 

Hours later and Silvia sat at the bar still talking to Gob. She had sent Clover back to her home to sleep, and Jericho had stepped out for a cigarette and never came back. She and Gob spoke of her adventures, she could only imagine because he enjoyed living vicariously through her. The bar had become vacant hours ago, but yet they drank, and talked, and drank some more. She made sure to buy all the drinks knowing Gob’s indentured servitude. She didn’t get a chance to speak to him like this last time she was in megaton. She was too busy being scared shitless and disarming nuclear bombs.

“The next morning I took the boy and we headed over to a small town I had discovered so he could be safe. The adults there were nice enough. Clover, well, has just been sort of following me around since.”

“I remember Charon from when I was in Underworld. Never even spoke to him once. He seemed so mean, and come to find out he’s such a great guy you have the hots for him.”

“What?” Her mouth gaped open and she blushed profusely. “Don’t be juvenile.” She smiled just thinking about him. “I can’t get the idea out of my head. I need to free him, but I need to find my dad. Maybe I’ll come across a secret stash of bottles and make enough to detour back to Underworld.”

“Or you could go back just to see him, just to say hi.”

Silvia laughed. “No, he’s _my_ imagined friend, not visa-versa. No reason to go back until I have the caps to free him.”

“If you say so…” Gob sat next to her and put a shriveled hand on her arm. She noticed how Gob’s flesh felt rough and dry, but Charon’s had felt softer; more like leather. “but if a beautiful smoothskin had held my hand, I’d fucking never want her out of my sight.”

“Beautiful, eh?” Silvia finally felt those twenty or so shots catch up to her, and the world felt _just so darn great_. She knew she wasn’t a smoulder, even in the small pickings of the vault she was overlooked for other girls, but _Damn_. Right now she _felt_ as beautiful as Gob would have her believe.

“Yeah, you really are, Sil. As corny as it sounds, all inside and out and what not.”

She pulled her hand back and dragged her fingers over his slowly. Gob pulled his hand away suddenly. Silvia didn’t know why, but it was incredibly cute the way he flirted with her and then took it back when she flirted in retort. Suddenly she felt like she was a kid again, sixteen and snogging Butch Deloria to make Amata jealous. The idea of being home gave her a rush of adrenaline and one of those not-so-well thought out moments.

Heart skipping, she pounced at Gob. Her lips pressed against what was left of his. She started to get worried after a moment of stillness from Gob, but right then he engulfed her back, with even more passion than she had given.

It was totally amazing and bizarre at the same time. Silvia had pondered what it would be like to kiss a ghoul, but now that it was actually happening she could only think of how good his hands felt holding her neck and back; how warm his body was against hers. How the soft uneven feeling of his mouth brushing against her neck made butterflies rise in her stomach. Maybe she was some kind of pervert, being so attracted to ghouls, but everyone in the wastes was rotten, just in different ways.

In the frenzy of soft gasps and moans, grabbing and stroking, Silvia fell off of her bar stool and took Gob with her. Trying to pull him down on her, and refusing his mouth any escape; she placed his hand up her shirt. Feeling his rough hand slide up her torso and rest just under her breast, she moaned and arched her back to bring herself closer to him. That was when Gob suddenly stopped and pulled off her.

“Come back!” She reached out playfully and started crawling towards him.

“Silvia!” He gasped for air barely able to keep his composure seeing her come towards him “Stop, wait.”

“What is it? Did I do something wrong?” She asked quite seriously.

Gob looked at her with a glint in his eyes, smiled, and then started laughing loudly. Silvia frowned, got up off the floor and took another shot of vodka all while Gob chuckled. “What.is.so.funny?” Shaking her head she asked.

“You!” He said calming down a little as he stood. “This.” He looked around at the bar. “Everything.”

“I don’t get the joke, I guess.” She mumbled but Gob kept giggling. Disinterested in his drunken laughing she looked down at the bar and noticed the cigarettes Jericho had left behind. Picking it up she wondered why she didn’t just go ahead and try it. “Well if drinking, drugs, and swearing haven’t killed me yet…”

“How about kissing a ghoul?” He said taking a shot of the vodka himself. This statement perked her interest again.

“That was the _best_ thing I’ve done so far…” Thinking that his question was an invitation to start again she stepped closer, but Gob held up his hand and shook his head.

Silvia looked dejected. “What is it? Don’t you want me?”

Gob grabbed her hand and kept smiling. “No, I do. Really, _really_ , I do. But in a couple days you’ll be gone, and the wastes are dangerous, and I like you, and … it’s just not so simple.”

“It can be as simple or as complex as we want, Gob.” She put her hands on his chest, and felt him inhale at her touch.

“ _You_ underestimate this.” He pulled her head down and kissed her again, but this time it was so sweet and soft it took her breath away. It wasn’t a physical thing anymore as her heart raced far more than her urges. There was something to be said about how extra sensitive ghoul skin was. His feather-light touch ran across her face sending chills down her spine. Gob looked into her black eyes and brushed the hair from her face. “At anytime you could walk out there and never come back? I can’t follow you. I _can’t_ take not knowing.”

“Wow.” Silvia sat back on the stool and grabbed the nearby cigarette and lit it instantly. She laughed lightly. “I can’t believe I’m getting the ‘ _it’s not you, it’s me’_ speech to the first guy I’ve tried to get to bed.”

Gob shot an eyebrow up at her, and Silvia gasped while slapping her hand over her mouth. A second later drunken laugher erupted from her, which was the perfect way to ignore the topic.

“You’re over-complicating things here, Gob.” Silvia lowered her mouth to his neck and started trailing soft, hot breaths along his jaw line. “This is - what it is. It feels good, and we’re both adults. Why not have a little enjoyment? Why not take advantage of it?” She found the spot where his ear had once been and circled it with her tongue.

 

 

Silvia was persistent; he had to give her that. Gob groaned as his hand reflexively slipped up her back while his mouth wanted to continue its explorations oh so badly, but…

“We can’t do this,” Gob whispered. Secretly he prayed she wouldn’t hear him. He hoped she would continue to gasp sweetly into his neck as she straddled his thigh.

“Not in here we can’t.” Silvia raised herself off Gob, brushing her chest against his hand as she pulled away. The fabric was only too cruel as it separated him from those curves. She turned to the bar door and locked it.

“Come on,” her voice was urgent mimicking his own ache. Pulling on his arms she lifted Gob from his seat and he followed her obediently.

Silvia led him around the bar to Moriarty’s back room. He had one last chance to pull away to stop her from taking him back there. She wasn’t going to be there in the morning, or send him love letters across the wastes, he knew this. She only wanted him for some fun, but seeing the way she smiled at him, like he was an object of yearning, killed his willpower.

She quickly shut the door, and turned her focus on Gob again. He could see the mischievous passion in her expression as she lifted her shirt and threw it on the ground.

“Oh, God, if this is a dream…”

“Less talk,” She leaned in to bite his lip while she pulled his shirt from him. “More kissing.”

Silvia pressed Gob against the wall and then slid her chest against his. The feeling of her bare skin over his entire chest made his desire pound. Grabbing the back of her head, Gob forced her fleshy lips into him. Silvia arched her hips into his expressing her further arousal by his sudden passion. He could feel her smile as she devoured him, and it was delicious. She was delicious.

There was nothing like touching a different woman for the first time. Women all had their very own smells, tastes, and needs. The exploration and discovery was half the enjoyment for Gob, and he realized that Silvia liked to be in charge. She demonstrated as much as she lowered Gob’s palm to cup her breast. How warm and soft it felt in contrast to the metal sheets that were at his back. When her hands traced down to his belt, Gob jumped as if finally falling out of a trance.

“Silvia, wait! If this is your first time, then it should be with someone... better…”

She laughed, but not cruelly. Slowly she licked sweet circles around his jaw and whispered, “I said you were the first _guy._ ” The breathlessness of her voice made his eyes roll back.

“Still, I'm not the best lover...”

In one motion she undid his pants and threw him to the floor. He waited in awe as she slid her jumpsuit off her hips, grabbing her own ass to tease him.

“If you can’t say anything nice, Gob,” she said while kneeling down over him. “Then I won’t let you say anything at all.” Silvia’s cheeks were flushed red as she hovered over him. He almost thought it was cute until she lowered her breast into his mouth and he stopped thinking. As the intimate flesh touched his lips, years of frustration swept over Gob and his hands were everywhere on her body.

Spreading her legs wider, Silvia reached her hand between her legs and gently glided into his undone pants. Gob gasped as she brought him out, her rough hands touching him so firmly, so perfectly.

“I thought you said you were new to men?” He said, with much difficulty, as his hips raised to meet her hand, but searched for more.

“Shut…” She lowered her warm wetness down on him, and slid herself up and down the front of his erection. “…it,” Her low soft word was moaned as her entire form shivered in pleasure.

 _Oh Fuck,_ Gob thought as he fought the urge to simply enter her right now. Her eyes were wild with pleasure and joy as her clit brushed up against the unevenness of him. One hand being licked uncontrollably by Silvia, Gob used his free hand to reach down and find her warmth. The sounds he elicited were laced with vitality and _want._ Pulling himself up from the floor to meet her vertical body, he licked at her breast again while continuing his previous experiments. She tightened up and jumped lightly in exquisite pleasure.

Gob would have thought he was in control of the situation momentarily, until Silvia hiked her hips at just the right angle and forced every inch of him inside of her. Her tightness was overwhelming, but also he hadn’t been with anyone in quite awhile. The union felt so amazing that it was everything in him not to let loose right away.

Searching for the pain on her face, Gob instead saw her excitement rise anew.

 _Pain._ She liked the pain of it. Nova once told him that she would cut herself before she worked for Moriarty, just to feel alive.

 _Damn it,_ he thought suddenly, _don’t think about Nova. Not now._

Pushing up on his shoulders to move, Silvia gasped with delight. Her total envelopment brought Gob back quickly. Finding her pace she moved up and down him, groaning into his mouth louder and heavier.

Gob’s fingers continued their exploration. Time stopped as the only feeling he could comprehend was being encased in wet, sweet, bliss. Until he felt her press hard against his hand, and her body tighten around him jaggedly.

She sank her tongue deep into his mouth as she came, loudly. It was her utter satisfaction which made him give up his fight and release into her. It had been far too long. He shuddered as he held her securely. He rode out his own orgasm with his face pressed into her neck.

A few minutes later Silvia rose from him and lay on the cold metal floor. He sat where he had been and watched her carefully. He wondered what she was thinking, and if this was going to be a regular kind of thing.

“I hope no one heard us.” She smiled pleased with herself.

“You mean, heard _you_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Life has been some kind of crazy for the past three months. I’d blame Jericho since it seemed to start after he _insisted_ on following me around, but that is stupid. It’s Clover’s fault too. Ha, ha! Nah, I only had myself to blame, that is, until I met the enclave and could blame them instead.

I remember the single choice I made that set me on this current path. The day after being with Gob was so…normal. It was practically a one night stand, but hellfire did not rain down on me as I had been taught. I had expected some world crushing revelation by taking that last physical step to “perversion” as the teachers had told us, but none ever came. Everything was still so average, I was still me. The sex was rushed, and foolish and fulfilled blatant base desire. It wasn't like it had been with Amata. I guess that's the difference between love and lust, but I left that love when she couldn't look at me anymore.

I don’t know what made me do it. Maybe Gob was just too cute and was too good to me, but the next night after everyone settled down, I snuck into Moriarty’s Saloon. I was so careful to be sure Gob did not see me. I found Moriarty asleep half drunk, pants half off, and I cringed. Really, I was just going to rob him, _Really_. But then I heard Nova crying in the next room, and I thought about Gob again. Those two never cut a break, and it was because of the prick sleeping soundly with not a shred of guilt. I slid my knife right across his throat. It was so easy, messy, and totally worth it.

The day after, I waited around Megaton to be sure Gob wouldn’t get into any trouble. Yeah, I would have admitted to killing Moriarty, but only if I needed to. Jericho kept smiling at me, like he knew what had happened and what I did. Just to make him mad I deny it to this day.

When we finally set off I didn’t know what we were doing. Sure, I was looking for vault 112, but each step of the way we met with raiders and wild animals. Weeks went by and we were all exhausted, and had not found this damn vault. At night Jericho would complain and shoot empty bottles off of rocks and Clover would curl up next to me to fall asleep. _Poor Clover_. She seemed to need me next to her, especially at night, and I had no problem letting her. As time went on she started to have an opinion of her own, maybe even think about the whole ‘freedom’ thing, but at night she still dug her head into my shoulder. I feared I would always be her ‘mistress’ even if she woke from whatever terrible dream she was in.

Then one day Jericho suggested we go and do some trading and resting in Evergreen Mills. Alright, I knew they were raiders, but Jericho swore he could get us in without a hassle. Good as his word he got us in without a fight. We were rested up and fed (for a hefty fee), but that’s when I saw the slaves.

Let me take this moment to explain that this is 10000% _all about slavery_. Listen, _I hate raiders_. They are mindless drug-addled animals that attack everything and anything. They have no regard for life, not even their own. But then... _but then_ I find out that they are keeping slaves? My mind just went crazy as I considered all of the possibilities. The third night we were at Evergreen I walked up to Jericho and asked him if he wanted to help me double-cross the whole settlement, to kill every fucking raider there. He didn’t say anything, but he grinned from ear to ear, and that was all I needed.

The three of us perched up on one of the cliff faces surrounding the makeshift city, and I got out my sniper rifle. One, Two, Three and I had shorted out the generator that powered the electrical fence which held the super mutant behemoth. It instantly started rampaging through the town, killing dozens of raiders. The three of us sat above the carnage and we drank the liquor we had stolen. It was almost romantic, the way the three of us were huddled together, like we were watching a sunset instead of bodies flying thirty feet into the air.

I don’t know if those two brought out the sadistic urges in me, or if I had any hand in subsiding their cruelty, but it was all mutually beneficial. Everyone got what was coming to them. The good got good and the bad got bad. As long as I didn’t ponder too long about what I deserved, the entire world seemed fine. The best part? They were damn rich in Evergreen and split between us I had nearly all the caps I needed to buy Charon’s contract.

I admit I never stopped thinking about him that tall hunk of a ghoul. Even when I had my silly fantasies reliving the night I had with Gob, I’d start to think about Charon which, was pretty weird, considering. I rationalized that anyone would be curious if all ghouls _felt_ the same, and then I would laugh and blush myself into drunkenness. Jericho said I was some kind of sexual miscreant for having sex with a ghoul, how he found out was anyone’s guess. I told him to stop being jealous that Gob was getting more than he was. I think he respected me more when we fought. I made sure to never back down to him, but he was right. I was ghoul crazy. I had no idea why.

Finally we came across a dump called Smith Casey’s garage. Going down into some tunnels and garbage of all sorts we found vault 112. I could see my dad sitting in a lounger, but I couldn’t wake him up. The robobrains wanted me to join the ‘simulation’ so I did. Jericho thought I was a moron for going in, not knowing what the machine could do, and I doubt he was wrong. I just told Clover to do whatever she wanted if I didn’t come out.

The simulation was…damn. All those innocent people just stuck there for so many years. I needed to get Dad out, but at what cost? I wondered why it bothered me, and I knew it was just because I still wanted to ‘be good.’ Regardless of my conscious, I still flipped that safety override watching them scream in terror before I woke up. Looking around I saw all the other loungers blink empty vital signs and I nearly cried I felt so bad. Shit, I even started to feel bad for the raiders I killed only a week before, and that’s when I took a swift drink and a hit of jet to stem the pain.

I didn’t know he was already awake, or walking towards me, but Dad saw me take the hit of chems. He looked at my companions like they were an extension of myself, an ex-raider and ex-sex slave. He didn’t say anything about it, but he didn’t need to. He didn’t even bother to try to hug me, not once. I could read his expression of disappointment and worry. I felt so guilty that I think I would have done _anything_ he asked. Well, come to think of it, I did.

For the next two weeks we escorted my Dad back to rivet city. The rains were coming harder and faster. We needed to get to cover because of the radiation levels each time, which slowed us down considerably. I was in a terrible mood because each time I’d try to drink or do chems Dad would just look at me in that regretful way. He was ashamed of his daughter, and I was disillusioned that he would think so lowly of me without knowing the whole story. It’s not like he was there to hold my hand as I discovered the world for the first time.

Jericho, however, was downright pissed, saying he wasn’t a babysitter, and I must have told him to get lost about twenty times, but he never did. When Three Dog would start talking about the ‘Lone Wanderer and her two companions,’ Jericho would shut right up and keep following.

Once Dad had gathered up his group of scientists from the dilapidated metal boat, he had us all head over to the Jefferson Memorial. He asked me to go inside and clear out the super mutant infestation, and believe it or not I was relieved. I needed to get away from him. Everything I had done was because he always tried to impose those ideas of right and wrong, and maybe I took liberties with the idea, but this was _reality_. Not little baby fairy land. I was the good-guy! I was the one everyone in the wasteland thought of as a hero. _FUCK._

Inside the memorial Jericho would shoot the supermutants from afar bringing them where we wanted them. Once close, Clover and I would slice into them with all the rage and frustration only two women could lay down. It was just what we needed, blood. Hours passed, and who knows how many. I couldn’t tell, as I lived in the moment of the kill; sucking in all the guilt numbing ache it achieved. It was when I repaired the last of the pump controls that we heard the helicopters, and the murderous daze disappeared.

The fucking Enclave. They had captured much of the monument, and I rushed, without thinking, back to Dad. I needed to save him, but when I found him he was already trapped. I stood there blank as I listened to him talk to an Enclave leader, and then suddenly, _without warning_ he let all the radiation vent. All of it! Right into where he was. I didn’t even have the strength to comprehend what was really happening until he spoke to me, “Be good to yourself, my sweet girl. I know you do what you have to.” And that’s when my heart went cold.

I had misjudged him. In his distance, Dad was trying to let me know he understood what I was going through. He was giving me the space I needed to work out my feelings, which I often took out on myself. Whether it was fucking, or traveling with Jericho, or drinking until I puked, or killing raiders I was just covering up how I really felt. How scared I really was, and now… Now I didn’t feel a damn thing. My chest felt empty and my eyes were blank as we helped the scientists escape. I said nothing as the Brotherhood of Steel took us in and gave us food and lodging. I walked to the room they gave me and laid down, and that’s where I stayed. I couldn’t see anything but Dad’s dead eyes staring up at me, and felt as dead inside as a ghoul looked outside.

Like I’d said, “Everyone got what was coming to them.” This was karma, plain and simple.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve never seen so much self-pity in one person before. It’s disgusting,” said Sarah Lyons to one of her pride. “We have to get going on this, and all she wants to do is relive the, _unfortunate_ , events of a week ago.”

“Leave her alone. She’s been talking about that asshole since I met her, and now he’s dead,” Jericho inhaled deeply on his cigarette, even though the brotherhood had asked him to stop smoking. He seemed to be standing guard at the doorway, but was most likely there to annoy the brotherhood.

“Look, can’t you snap her out of it? This is very important work…”

“Then why don’t you fucking do it, sugar tits?”

Sarah’s face turned bright red. “Because, _sugar tits_ , she is the only one with a pipboy. If vault 87’s mainframe needs to be accessed she will be the only one who can do it.”

“Oh see, I meant, why don’t _you_ go snap her out of it?” Smiling widely Jericho accepted a beer from the laughing blond next to him.

“God damnit, there is no time for this!” Sarah Lyons shouted.

Star Paladin Cross had been watching the hallway outside of Silvia Morgan’s room for the past week. She ran a hand over her short grey hair, and continued to reflect upon her next mission, what great deeds the makers had in store for her next. Also, she needed a haircut.

“Don’t let her near Momma, Jer-Bear,” Said the blonde who continued to wear a deactivated slave collar. Cross certainly didn’t under that.

“Friends of hers or not, we will throw you to the waste if you impede our progress any longer.” Sarah Lyons was not one to make idle threats, and Cross looked up feeling the confrontation rising. Sarah Lyons lacked an important virtue: patience. Silvia Morgan’s companions were simply impertinent. There was an inevitable violence in the hallway, and Cross would not stand by and allow such things during the hour of contemplation.

“Sentinel Lyons, please allow me,” Cross spoke quietly to Sarah calming her rage. She quickly backed herself and her pride away. Yes, Sarah Lyons was her superior but Cross commanded seniority in both age and wars. Respect, much like life blood, continued to loop and vitalize all in its path.

Stepping up to Jericho, Cross looked at him blankly. “Excuse me,” she said without a hint of ambiguity towards the obvious ex-raider. To which he took a moment to think on, then shrugged and stepped aside.

 _Once again,_ she thought, _patience, respect they are circular_.

Stepping into the room, Cross could only see a silhouette standing at the window, the contrast of light to dark making it impossible to see the girl. The child seemed a ghost, devoid of purity, only tethered to this world because she knew not what else to do. Cross could not deny the impact of the symbolism she was witnessing. A higher power was giving the Paladin a clue to her own destiny.

“Your father was a good man,” Cross said straightforward, but Silvia did not respond. “However, he allowed his vision of the future to eclipse the safety of his work and person in the here and now.”

Silvia turned to Cross and stepped forward, her eyes shining like a feral creature looking for a place to die. “Are you seriously insulting my dead father?”

“We all have our flaws, Silvia Morgan. Your father knew this.”

“My father knew how to run away from his fears, and how to abandon things that he supposedly loved.” Silvia grabbed a cigarette from the table and lit it.

“Only the best of us can face our own flaws,” Cross replied watching the red glow from the cigarette shake in the dark air.

“Oh? I thought he was a _good man_.”

“I said he was a good man, not the best of us, however.”

Silvia rubbed her hand over her forehead and barked a small laugh, but the next laugh she let out sounded somber. “It’s my fault I never told him about myself, and his fault for being so self centered, and now all I can do is wallow in this foul tasting self-pity. I would medicate myself with liquor or drugs, but I don’t feel a damn thing anyways. _That makes it worse._ Is this what I even want? The brotherhood is just _assuming_ I will help them.”

Cross carefully considered the confidential outburst that had bee bestowed upon her. Here stood, in her opinion, the best aspects of humanity. Silvia Morgan was painfully aware of her flaws and her strengths, she could recognize the need for compassion, but had tasted brutality equally. Cross had followed James Morgan because she had been ordered to. Now, she would follow Silvia because she believed fate wanted her to. Why else would they place her in such proximity to a mission that had not been fulfilled?

“Well,” Silvia asked, “your brotherhood acts like it has all the answers. What do I do? How I can be the good person everyone want to look up to, when all I want is to taste revenge _?_ ”

“Not all battles can be won, not all flaws undone,” Cross believed with no hesitation. “If you survive, then learning to live with the consequences of your existence is what separates the good men from the great men.”

Silvia blinked at Cross for a few minutes, and then seemed extremely amused. “Well, I may not be terribly fond of your brotherhood, but I like you. What’s your name anyhow?”

“Star Paladin Cross,” She said matter-of-fact. “I served as your father’s bodyguard twenty years ago.”

“So he hadn’t changed much, huh?” Silvia laughed, but it sounded sad and more hollow than jovial. “Well I better go see what they want from me, before Jericho and Nova start steal -- drinking your alcohol reserves dry.” She zipped up her repaired jumpsuit and turned to Cross as she dressed. “Thank you, Paladin Cross. I guess I needed someone to remind me that I’ll be just as miserable doing something as I am doing nothing.”

“I…” Cross stopped and pondered what she was being thanked for. Soon she gave up and turned to politeness instead. “You are welcome.”

“Hey, Sil.” Jericho banged on the door. “There’s a distress signal I think you’re gonna wanna hear.”

Silvia rolled her eyes and continued dressing herself with her guns and armor. “Why would I care about some random distress signal?” She shouted back.

“It’s from 101, Momma.”

 


End file.
